Make You Leave
by wickeddominatrix
Summary: Beck smells coffee. Jade holds a mug out. "I don't know what you wanted, so I just gave you what I get. Black. With two sugars." He takes the cup, "Thanks." / Or, Beck and Jade meet a chilly winter night. Beck/Jade. Yay for open endings.


_You say sleep, baby, sleep. _

.

Beck Oliver could not give a fuck anymore. His fiancé left him, he can't go back home, and he's in fucking Seattle.

_Seattle_. He lives in LA. He walks out of the church, ignoring stares of pity from his family and friends. Real love doesn't exist, though, so he just grabs his keys from his pocket of his black, classic, cliché — Beck has always hated clichés — tuxedo.

It hurts, he thinks. But he is Beck, so he just drives to a hotel. He's checking into his room when it hits him. It's not easy, and if it was, it wouldn't hurt.

He doesn't see how that he bothered to think that was relevant, but it is, somehow, sometime.

Beck leaves his room to walk around in the chilly night. He doesn't bother taking a coat, but it's not for some poetic bullshit, like he deserves to suffer, or because he needs a refreshing night. He's just too lazy to unpack.

He wonders how unhealthy it is to not even unpack when you were about to move in a house with his wife. She's not his wife, though. Beck laughs. It's amazing how hollow laughter can be. Like when a divorced man finally gets it. He's _divorced_.

It's terrifying.

But he settles and he walks around the city. He doesn't like the city; doesn't like the anonymity. Beck loves being known. It's the artist in him.

Art is what started this stupid mess, so he just doesn't give it another thought. The wind is blowing in his face, and his hair is blowing everywhere, and it's honestly driving him insane, but he doesn't lift his hand to move it.

He muses, and this time it is poetic bullshit, rambling thoughts that won't change anything. It is not words that shall change the world, but he thinks them anyways.

He tells himself that this is okay. It is okay that you've been left at the altar, and that you wanna be drunk all day and all night.

It's okay.

He tells himself that the further you are from love or happiness, the more you crave it, and the more it will matter when you have it. That'll it be concentrated.

Beck lets go of the fist he didn't know he was holding. He doesn't like waiting - never has. It always takes too long, or it's dumb to wait for so he just gives up. Because that's what he does.

He wonders how much of a coward everyone thinks he is, but he finds he doesn't really care anymore.

This is when you find yourself, he thinks, when all you want is to go home, but realize you don't know what home is.

Beck is being too thoughtful and it's pissing him off, actually. He feels something on his front and looks right in front of him.

"Literally what the fuck."

A girl, no, a woman, is standing in front of him. She's pretty and it reminds him of the night. She's got gallons of eyeliner on and to be honest, she looks about 27 and that's far too much makeup. But he doesn't care anymore.

He notices the empty coffee cup in her hands and notices his sticky suit. "You spilled coffee on my tux."

The pretty woman widens her eyes. "I? I spilled it on you? Were you just not paying attention when you ran into me? Or was that just me?"

Honestly, he just doesn't _care_. "Sorry," he says.

She exhales. "Have you got somewhere to be?"

"No."

"Hold out your wrist, then." He complies and then thinks, why am I letting this chick take my somewhere? Shouldn't I be screaming, you know, stranger danger?

Beck doesn't scream, and enters the cab she gestures to.

He sits next to the window, his cheek burning from the freezing cold temperature of it. It's icy. They sit in silence after she pays the cabbie to take them somewhere.

Again, he is reminded of how much he just _doesn't fucking care_.

"So. What's up with the whole act, Mr. I-Don't-Give-Fucks?"

"You ask a lot of questions. And I don't know what you mean."

"You do too."

"My fiancé left me and, uh, what's your name?"

"Jade West."

"Beck Oliver."

The two stay quiet. "So, where are we going, then, Jade West?"

"My home."

Beck looks at her, Jade, Jade West. She is beautiful. Blue eyes that remind him of fireworks, and pink lips that don't really remind him of anything except how much he wants to kiss her. And no, he doesn't want to kiss because he loves her, or anything of the sort. She's beautiful and beautiful is something that Beck likes.

Beautiful is his only type.

She looks at him, and he drops his gaze. She doesn't say anything but clenches her teeth, like she's already reconsidering taking him in.

The cab stops and she hands the man a wad of cash. They do not say a word as they walk to her apartment.

She smiles at him and suddenly she is not beautiful at all. She is ethereal.

But he sleeps on her couch and sleeps away. The night is dark.

.

He wakes up, and doesn't even process that he is where he is, he just is.

Beck smells coffee. Jade holds a mug out. "I don't know what you wanted, so I just gave you what I get. Black. With two sugars."

He takes the cup, "Thanks."

He really means for everything.

_I can't make you stay so I'll close my eyes and look away. _


End file.
